Tonight Papa Bear and I went to a puppet show. A damn scary puppet show.
The show is based on The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Seriously creepy, friends.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Oh, hey, does anyone still want to know what Papa Bear's nickname for me is?
And finally, a little eye candy for those of you interested in the ladies.
And finally, a little eye candy for those of you interested in the ladies.
The Demise of Metra Man
It was a day like any other day. I was tromping through the foot of snow Illinois barfed onto us on my way to the train one morning. Papa Bear had taken an earlier train in, so I was on my own.
Enough people don't bother shoveling their walks here that a lot of my route consists of a narrow trail beaten down by those who've gone before me. I walk slightly slower than a turtle in the winter time, so I frequently pull over to let people coming up behind me pass.
I was doing just that, letting a fellow who I've occasionally considered nursing a crush on skip by when from behind him emerges . . . Metra Man.
My heart sang, naturally. "Go on ahead," I simpered. "I'll just slow you down."
He smiled, oh so gallantly. He went ahead but slowed his pace enough to make conversation with me. "Hi, I'm Bill."
Wait, what? A name? NOOOOOOOOOO! That is not how our relationship works! He does not have a name, he does not get a name! He is Metra Man, an icon, a symbol of all that I desire in a slightly grey at the temples man with a dazzling smile, twinkling blue eyes that read my soul, and an adorable scrap of a dog. We do not call our god by name and if we did, it would not be Bill!
Actually, Papa Bear and I have often speculated as to what Metra Man's name might be, especially after the night I dreamt he told me it was Norman. I believe we settled on something multisyllabic and Italian sounding, something like Alphonso. Definitely not Bill.
As I gasped in horror, Bill continued making idle conversation. I hardly heard another word until he mentioned his partner.
I think it is safe to assume that he was not discussing a business partner with whom he coincidentally owns a home.
Friends, Metra Man is named Bill, and Bill is gay.
More than a year of good, solid crushing right down the drain.
I have to consult the rules. If you know your Metra Man's name, can he be your Metra Man any longer?
Enough people don't bother shoveling their walks here that a lot of my route consists of a narrow trail beaten down by those who've gone before me. I walk slightly slower than a turtle in the winter time, so I frequently pull over to let people coming up behind me pass.
I was doing just that, letting a fellow who I've occasionally considered nursing a crush on skip by when from behind him emerges . . . Metra Man.
My heart sang, naturally. "Go on ahead," I simpered. "I'll just slow you down."
He smiled, oh so gallantly. He went ahead but slowed his pace enough to make conversation with me. "Hi, I'm Bill."
Wait, what? A name? NOOOOOOOOOO! That is not how our relationship works! He does not have a name, he does not get a name! He is Metra Man, an icon, a symbol of all that I desire in a slightly grey at the temples man with a dazzling smile, twinkling blue eyes that read my soul, and an adorable scrap of a dog. We do not call our god by name and if we did, it would not be Bill!
Actually, Papa Bear and I have often speculated as to what Metra Man's name might be, especially after the night I dreamt he told me it was Norman. I believe we settled on something multisyllabic and Italian sounding, something like Alphonso. Definitely not Bill.
As I gasped in horror, Bill continued making idle conversation. I hardly heard another word until he mentioned his partner.
I think it is safe to assume that he was not discussing a business partner with whom he coincidentally owns a home.
Friends, Metra Man is named Bill, and Bill is gay.
More than a year of good, solid crushing right down the drain.
I have to consult the rules. If you know your Metra Man's name, can he be your Metra Man any longer?
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